


Taking Home The Gold

by KayleeJohn



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: A Bit Of Jealousy, Alternate Universe - Olympics, Athlete!Harry, Corniness, Fluff, M/M, Mentions of Sex, Olympics, Pointless Arguments, Sochi 2014
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-19
Updated: 2014-02-19
Packaged: 2018-01-13 02:21:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1209217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KayleeJohn/pseuds/KayleeJohn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is Team GB and Niall is Team Irish. Harry is cocky and Niall isn’t impressed. Harry doesn’t take no for an answer and Niall definitely doesn’t like sneaking around the Olympic Village with Harry, nope, no siree.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taking Home The Gold

The first time Niall hears  _the_  name, he’s just making his way out of the half pipe practice area, weaving in and out of thick crowds to the sound of all kinds of accents on the air. It’s nice and diverse and daunting and Niall just wishes he was actually competing and not just here as an assistant to a coach in the name of getting more ‘real life practice’. 

Niall doesn’t mind so much. It’s fine, really! The Irish athletes are all kind and the coaches aren’t too miserable. If Niall had one complaint though, it’d be for the strict strict security literally  _everywhere_  in Sochi because this is now the tenth time he’s had to show his ID even though he’s on his way  _out_ not  _in_  to the practice area but he just goes with it because, when in Russia, do as you’re told or you’ll trip and fall on a set of knives or something. 

And Niall’s just heading toward the little cookery outpost set up between the skiing and snowboarding and the stands all around when a crowd of Americans cut him off and he barely swallows a sneer because, oh no, he wasn’t walking there at all. He catches snatches of their conversation, mostly because there’s no way he can see around them or through them, that he’d like to chance at least, so he’s just forced to stand there and wait and, 

“Yeah, no, Harry Styles is definitely a shoe-in for gold. There’s no competition there.” One of the American girls says in passing, nodding her head enthusiastically, and Niall can’t help but track her a little as she goes by because he recognizes that name, has heard all of the other athlete’s names at least in this sport and, really, the fact that they’re just discounting everyone else is seriously something because, hey now, Niall has seen some of the Swedes and Canadians pulling out some amazing tricks and what makes this  _one_  English snowboarder special. “He’ll lay them all out. Speaking of, I definitely wouldn’t mind if he lay me out.” Oh, that’s what makes him so special.

Niall just kind of rolls his eyes and pushes through the butt end of the crowd, heading right into the canteen to buy two trays of coffee because, if he just brings one cup for himself, the other assistants and coaches and athletes will throw a literal bitch fit. Niall knows, he’s had to live through it on more than one occasion. Apparently, it’s just common sense to buy for everyone. Niall wasn’t clued in on the memo.

He’s still pretty lost in his thoughts as he heads back though because he’s heard the name Harry Styles before and has yet to put a face to the name, preferably one that isn’t otherwise compromised by boarding glasses and a hat pulled low. He asks the coach when he returns, tries to pass off as casual as he hands over a coffee but he probably fails because the coach just scoffs and points toward the half pipe with a wave of his hand and a curt, “See for yourself.”

Niall might twist his head around a little too fast but it’s only in the name of curiosity, he swears it. Except he finds this Harry in the same condition which he had hoped not to, all bandaged up in goggles and such and all Niall can really see is the red pinch on his nose, barely as it is from this distance. Suits him fine anyway, he didn’t really want to see. Niall nods his head to the coach, even if he’s already moved away, and he starts down the slope, heading toward where he can see his team’s athlete, Seamus O’Connor, trying to slow his momentum to the middle of the pipe.

Seamus skitters to a stop beside him and pops a coffee from the container, tugging down his mask as he takes off the cap and breathes in the steam. “Thanks, Niall, you’re a life saver.” Seamus reaches out and nudges up against Niall’s shoulder, more snow than glove at this point, but Niall doesn’t have the time to answer him before another boarder stops beside and shoulders forward and it’s by some stroke of memory that Niall recognizes Harry’s form but up close now and, oh.

Harry hooks a finger to tug down his scarf and Niall nearly steps back at the sheer scowl painting over his lips because, to his knowledge, he’s never done a single thing to offend Harry so there is no  _earthly_  reason as to why he’s getting this look. “Where’s my water?” Harry snaps, holding out a gloved hand and now Niall is doubly confused because, what even. 

To make matters even worse, Seamus just smirks and nods his head toward Harry before he pushes off and Niall doesn’t have the nerve to call out for him to stay. So Niall just firms his grip on the coffee cup trays and furrows his brow in confusion. “Um, I don’t work for you.” Niall shakes his head slowly before he presents his right shoulder so that the little green, white, and orange flag and his country pride are clearly visible. “Team Irish.”

Harry’s lips curl even further in a snarl and he pulls one foot out of the strap-ins to start pushing his way away from Niall. “Well then, get off the freaking pipe.” Harry hisses meanly, waving his hands as if to shoo Niall away and, if that isn’t the  _nicest_  thing that’s happened to Niall to date, he hasn’t lived yet.

“Wow,” Niall rolls his eyes and starts to twist around but he has to get one last petty jab in because he’s  _that_  kind of person. “I don’t understand how people like you.” Niall starts to walk down the middle of the pipe, preparing to dance around other boarders like he’s playing leap frog, but he doesn’t get nearly far enough as a hand grabs at his elbow and  _yanks_  him and he nearly loses his footing on the slippery snow.

Niall would’ve fumbled and dropped the coffees to the floor but he manages to save it at the last minute and, whipping his head around, he finds Harry standing much closer but the only thing Niall can see is his reflection in the tinted glass of Harry’s goggles and, boy, does he look scared, all wide eyes and slack lips and he tries to play it off as the grab because that is  _totally_  the reason, yep. He tries to step back but Harry steps closer, bearing down on Niall with a growl. “Excuse me?”

Niall’s throat clicks as he swallows but he forces himself to keep staring at his reflection in the glass, trying fruitlessly to meet Harry’s eyes through the goggles but it’s pointless and he’s more than aware of that. Niall tries to pull his arm away, lightly, but Harry has a firm, persistent grip on him and a part of Niall wants to die because he’s has no idea how he wound up in this situation. “You’re going to have to let me go if you want me to get off the pipe.” Niall breathes evenly, tugging at his arm again and, this time, Harry lets him go, throwing his hands up beside his head like he’s under arrest before he pushes away and Niall just  _does not_  understand but, then again, he doesn’t necessarily want to. 

+

It’s the next morning when Niall is off to a late start, grabbing breakfast around ten which is actually considered tardy but only because most of the athletes have already been up for four hours and been practising for as long as well. Niall knows that he should get into the habit of proactive training but, between that and sleeping in, he’ll take sleeping in, any day. Still, there’s a part of himself that feels pathetically lonely; he’s just sitting at an empty table in a moderately busy canteen, staring at a wall blankly because, by the way he sat down, the televisions are only behind him so all he’s got are flashes on the wall and snatches of conversation that don’t make a lick of sense because they’re all in Czech or Dutch or some other language. 

Except, Niall raises his head when a nearby chair screeches a little and then he sees about the last person he expects sitting down in front of him, only recognizing him thanks to the sound of his voice and the little dimples in the corner of his cheeks and, “So, about what you said yesterday,” Harry crosses his arms on the table top and Niall can’t get any words out because, unsurprisingly, he is so freaking confused. The tip of the ice burg is that Harry looks completely different now, softer and kinder, sweet curves and soft angles, and Niall is starting to suspect that Harry has a twin because there’s no earthly way that this is the same person, not with his pale lips almost curled up in a smile and tame green eyes shining a little as he steals the packet of crackers from the corner of Niall’s tray. 

Niall scoffs and yanks his food an inch closer to himself, as if that will make a difference and put it out of Harry’s reach, more than anything though, he’s just trying to distract himself from the slope from Harry’s throat to his shoulder and the seamless path of smooth pale skin. Niall dips his head and shakes it a little, ripping another edge of toast off his sandwich with his teeth before he speaks through his food. “I’m sorry?” They words are not an apology by any stretch of the imagination because they’re a question and he arches an eyebrow to make that plainly clear.

Harry drops his crackers to the table top and starts gesturing around with his hands, forming a U with them in the name of description. “I was on the half pipe, you said you don’t understand how anyone likes me. Ringing a bell?” Harry does leer out the last sentence a little before he ducks down and he snaps a cracker in half to eat it but neither his words nor his actions have explained a thing so Niall just raises his other eyebrow to match the first.

“No, I remember.” Niall holds up a hand in case Harry is thinking of opening his smart ass mouth again before he claps off the crumbs from his palms and presses his hands flat to the table just so that he doesn’t reach out and do something he’ll really regret, like reeling Harry in by the ears or something. “Why are you bringing it up though?”

The quirks in the corner of Harry’s mouth fade away as he starts to push around the crackers, nudging them over the table top as he stammers aimlessly, “It’s just that, I don’t, I mean,” and Niall doesn’t know where Harry was going with any of those sentences but he has a pretty clear inclination. Harry isn’t one to take disapproval lightly. Well, isn’t that an interesting development. 

“What are you doing today?” Niall cuts off Harry’s ramblings before he can even get a fully coherent sentence out but he doesn’t wait to see the reaction on Harry’s face before he dips his head, tearing methodically at the crusts of his sandwich, only because he likes to save them for last. “Practising?” Niall offers as he flicks his eyes up, keeping his eyes steady on when Harry leans back in his chair. 

“I’ve got a ticket to watch bob sledding but,” Harry shrugs his shoulders and drags some crumbs off the table top, watching as they fall to the floor and Niall has to bite his tongue before he asks if Harry is going to clean that up. “I don’t know if I’m going anymore.”

Niall lets a slow smile spread over his lips, swirling his morning juice around like it actually means something. “Because you’re going to try to win me over.” It isn’t a question and Niall takes a long drag of his juice, swallowing down the tang of it just so that he won’t actually burst out in a laugh when red starts crawling its way up Harry’s throat.

“What?” Harry actually shoves away from the table a little, starting to stand up before he slumps back down and mumbles, “I never said,” with a decided shake of his head but it’s glaringly obvious and Harry knows that Niall knows so he falls silent because there is no use fighting it.

Niall smacks his lips a little as he places his juice cup back down and his smile hasn’t lessened in the slightest bit, not even when he makes a steeple with his fingers because evil masterminds smirk, they don’t smile, but Niall doesn’t really care. “The way you’ve been thinking about it all night says enough, doesn’t it?” Check and mate and Niall’s feeling pretty proud of himself with the way Harry flushes red all the way up to his eyebrows.

“I didn’t say I was thinking about it all night.” Harry tries, of course he tries, but it’s even worse than his previous attempt and Niall doesn’t even bother humouring it with a response. Niall wonders if Harry is this bad with everyone who isn’t a board or a slope. Niall stands up from the table but leaves his tray behind, even though it’s something he would normally never do, but he’s got bigger plans than cleaning up after himself for the moment.

Niall walks around the edge of the table and, when he reaches him, he glides his fingers from Harry’s wrist, up his arm, over the breadth of his shoulder as he passes behind, before he pulls away and ducks on the other side of him to meet his face. ”Would you like to get some coffee?” Niall offers, smiling a bit wider when Harry’s eyes drop, not so subtly down to his lips as he speaks. “That’s always easy, isn’t it?”

So, they go get coffee, taking up a table in the corner so they don’t get bothered by nearly as many people asking for Harry’s autograph as they would in a booth with a view. And they talk, for hours and hours, learning in that time that they have a lot more in common with each other than they ever suspected. Neither of their families could accompany them, not only because Niall wasn’t actually competing, but also money in Harry’s case. They both have a pension for the colour blue, both went to Everwood High which, by some strange coincidence, is a school name in Ireland and in the United Kingdom, and they both grew up with a dominate mother figure at home. They both had an  _unfortunate_  bowl cut in the fourth grade and both had these awful Christmas sweaters with a dog’s head on top, which they would make an absolute mockery of while eating grandma’s mince pie. The list goes on, ultimately, with enough glaring coincidences to last a lifetime.

And they end up back at Harry’s room somehow, well, not like Niall doesn’t remember. It’s after they went to the bob sledding competition and cheered on every team but their own. After the impromptu pints of beer but they’d been coerced into by a team of celebrating Germans and how could they say no to that? After they had stumbled their way through giggles and crowds, falling into one too many piles of snow and picking not nearly enough snow ball fights with strangers on their way back to the Olympic Village. That’s how they end up back in Harry’s room, tumbling onto his twin bed that’s not big enough for two people so they’re close, breath fanning over each other’s faces as their laughter dies down.

“So,” Harry says, reaching forward to knuckle his fingers against Niall’s shoulder and he would’ve pushed Niall off the bed if not for some frantic flailing and shirt grabbing. “What do you think of me now?” And Niall can’t help but roll his eyes because of course Harry would ask that, vain to the end, but it’s totally okay because that was ultimately the reason for all of this and not because he got a little carried away under the guise of Harry’s company.

Niall shrugs his shoulders and pushes his bottom lip up until his mouth is curved in a half-hearted gesture. “You’re alright, I guess.” Niall offers, dipping his chin into his chest to muffle a laugh when Harry pushes at his shoulder again. 

“I’m going to tell your mum.” Harry makes to roll off the bed and head for the door as if he’ll actually  _run_  from Russia to Ireland right now but Niall leaps up and tackles him to the ground first, flips him over to pin his wrists as he tries to ignore the fact that they’re in a very compromising position.

“Fine,” Niall huffs, ducking in low as he narrows his eyes. “I was a little bit wrong about you. You’re,” Niall pauses, purely for dramatic effect and he watches as Harry’s eyes flicker between his own, Harry’s lips quirk up in the corners with the hint of a smile. “You’re nice, when you aren’t telling me to piss off.”

Harry tilts his head into the floor and laughs, eyes squeezed shut and, Niall isn’t quite sure what possesses him, the Norse god Freyja or something, but he ducks down and presses a kiss to the corner of Harry’s mouth, too far to excuse it as a miss for his cheek and not close enough to hit the nail dead on the head. Niall pulls back fully, his hands from Harry’s wrists and his chest hovering above Harry’s, he sits back on his haunches and twists his head to the side, blowing out a breath as he stares at the blank hotel walls and, as he runs his hands through his hair, he curses himself for letting this get  _way_  too far. It started as a joke, a tease, and Niall was about to let himself- He’s doesn’t even know what.

Niall claps his hands to his thighs and makes to stand up again but, with a timely yank on his chest, he doesn’t go anywhere. He barely manages to twist his head around before lips are pressing against his and a hand is cupping the back of his head to keep him close, threading fingers through his hair like an afterthought and Niall doesn’t realize he’s keening high, until Harry chuckles into his mouth in the moments before they break apart. 

Aside from static and this high ringing, all Niall can think is, _okay so that took a turn_ , but he doesn’t have much time to think anything else before Harry leans their foreheads together and fists a hand in the back of his shirt, hauling him in that much closer. “Just for fun, yeah?” Harry asks in a bit of a breathless voice, stroking his fingers down to squeeze at Niall’s shoulder and he’s trying to put on a brave face but the hint of nerves is visible, even underneath all that bravado.

Niall drops his eyes down to the neck of Harry’s shirt, tucks two fingers in just to hear the way Harry’s throat clicks when he swallows. “We’re in wonderland.” Niall mumbles, leaning up to nudge his nose against Harry’s before he shrugs because the Olympic Village has always been notorious for sex and, really, this is as close to wonderland as it gets. “Nothing’s for real.” 

So, they roll around a bit more on the floor, Harry’s hands catching at Niall’s waist to haul him in so he can jut their hips together in thrusts just on this side of hard, and they kiss until their mouths are sore and wet and, when Harry sinks his teeth into Niall’s bottom lip, he can only feel it when Harry thumbs over the indents and bruises slowly, and Niall can’t remember when they pulled apart but his lips are  _absolutely_  on fire.

Niall’s shirt is long gone, tossed away to hook onto the corner of the dresser, and Niall has wanted Harry’s shirt long gone but he has yet to actually pull his hands out from where they’re caressing Harry’s chest to whip it off. He can’t gather up the strength anyway because his fingers are tingling something awful so he’s just holding on as his eyes roll into the back of his head from the sticky throbs shooting up his spine. It’s almost glaringly clear that they want to have sex, want to take it a step further by the way Harry’s fingers scramble for the waistband of Niall’s pants and he’s heaving breathes into Niall’s mouth, but Harry is definitely not helping, with the way his other hand is digging into the dips of Niall’s back to guide his rut forward into his thigh.

The only thing Niall can take pride in is the fact that he is less than coherent, incapable of forming actual sentences which _is_ totally a blessing in this case because Harry is gasping out these _things_ that make Niall want to curl down to his toes, make him splutter precome out onto the stripe of Harry’s stomach where his shirt is hiked high enough and Niall’s pants are bowed low enough for his dick to poke out and it’s hot and heavy and Niall wants to scream because he can feel the press of Harry’s cock, hot against his ass and it is _this_ close but so fucking far. Unbearable, is what it is. Niall just doesn’t know how to take it any further.

So he comes, wet against Harry’s stomach, with a moan just as shaky as he feels, pressed into the skin of Harry’s cheek, but he comes, moreover, to the feeling of both of Harry’s hands digging into his back, guiding his grind harder into his lap. Niall feels like he’s positively glowing as he ducks his head down, kissing Harry’s slack lips, into a guttural breath more than anything else but it’s only when Harry gasps and gurgles and clanks their teeth together that Niall knows he’s come too, feels the spasm of it through layers of clothes.

Harry slides his mouth from Niall’s own to kiss and nip at his throat, lazily as he stills their bodies with a hand on Niall’s hip, thumb poking above the band of Niall’s pants to thumb into his skin but the feeling of it just sends such violent shudders through Niall’s body that he has to roll off, tucking himself back into his pants before he palms across the splatters on his stomach and hugs his arms tight to his chest because all of _that_ was completely unprecedented and, okay. “Okay,” Niall says it because he has to hear it aloud. What he doesn’t expect though, is to hear Harry snort beside him, a terrible, scornful noise.

“Just, okay?” Harry arches an eyebrow in derision before he reaches across the way. He traces the pad of his thumb from Niall’s temple, over his cheek, before hooking it into the corner of Niall’s mouth and Niall lets it slack enough for Harry to pull his lips apart. Harry’s eyes drop down and darken when he pushes his thumb deeper in and Niall’s mouth just _gives_ around it, letting him slip in to the knuckle before it’s more than what the round of Niall’s lips have permitted. “I can do better than okay.” Harry hums lowly like he plans to do it right now and, _oh_. Niall sucks in a breath too fast when Harry shifts up and tugs off his shirt, trapping Niall with his hands and knees before he can even think to move.

“Okay,” Niall can’t help but breathe again, licking at his lips like they aren’t wet enough before he reaches up to stroke over the breadth of Harry’s shoulders. Niall digs his nails into Harry’s back just to see how far he can push him and, when Harry arches forward and lets out a groan, dropping down to press their foreheads together, Niall just knows that this is going to be _great_.

+

Except, they get a bit carried away. Well, that in itself is an understatement because they’re at it, at least three times a day, _every_ day and, yeah, carried away is selling it short. Because Niall’s nights end up with his head tucked under Harry’s chin and his fingers tracing the lines of Harry’s hips, he starts off the morning having slept over on Harry’s too small bed or, if he had stayed in his own room for the night, meeting up with Harry in the canteen before they head off for some timely TLC. They eventually do go their separate ways during the day, Harry off to training and Niall off to team work except that Niall has started to _completely_ shirk his assistant duties. As in, Niall doesn’t remember where he’s supposed to be until someone asks him why he wasn’t there and, when he does actually go where he’s supposed to, he spends more time staring down at his phone and giggling at Harry’s texts than anything else. The worst thing is probably that he thinks he’s being a little bit subtle, sneaking around the village and keeping his phone on strict lock, but he isn’t subtle. Not in the slightest.

Which is how he gets grabbed when he’s harmlessly on his way to the canteen for lunch, pulled off momentum and into a side hallway before he’s pushed into a wall and, oh. One of the Irish Coaches is glaring down at him, arms crossed over his chest imposingly and it takes everything Niall has not to sink down the wall and beg forgiveness, clasping his shaking hands behind himself to hook into the buckles of his belt. “Niall,” The coach nods at him, scowling a little deeper when Niall’s eyes start to stray.

“Niall,” Niall teases back but then the coach slams a hand into the wall beside his head, bracketing him in and drawing his attention. “Okay, Breslin,” Niall holds his hands up in surrender before he tucks them behind himself again, pressing the pads of his fingers into the wall. “What can I do for you?” Niall has to ask because he honestly has no idea what Breslin wants from him, well, he kind of does but an explanation would still be nice.

Breslin curls his hand into a fist and bears down even closer, twisting his head to glance at the neck of the hallway before he ducks back in and his voice is dropped low like they’re sharing some kind of secret. “I’ve heard chatter.” Breslin hisses and Niall barely holds back from rolling his eyes because he definitely knows where this is going now.

Niall works out an imaginary kink in his neck before he glances over to his right, where the hallway ends and Breslin’s arm isn’t blocking him and it would just be _so_ easy to duck right and run off but he knows that he’d be caught again so he’ll just have to sit here and tough it out. “Anything interesting?” Niall is still glancing at his only means of escape when it vanishes in front of him, Breslin’s other arm shooting out to cage Niall in and, great.

Niall does actually rolls his eyes now, makes to move Breslin back with hands on his shoulders but he is a brick wall and clearly refuses to move, pushing Niall into the wall a bit harder than he really should as a rebuke. “ _Niall_ ,” Breslin growls, leaning in even further and Niall has to play off an uneasy laugh to make it seem like he isn’t nearly as nervous as he feels in his gut.

“Whoa, Bres, what would your girlfriend think?” Niall tries for a low blow, gesturing at the way Breslin is looming over him, but it’s more predatory in an offensive sense than in a sexual sense and Breslin knows as much because he sneers a little. Still, he eases off until Niall feel he can take a breath without getting all up in Breslin’s business in the process.

Bressie seems to be waiting for Niall to speak, staring right at him with these eyes that make Niall feel guilty but, no, he hasn’t done _anything_ wrong and he doesn’t deserve this persecution and- “I know what you’ve been doing with Harry.” Breslin hunches over when Niall drops his eyes guiltily to the ground, just so that Niall is kind of forced to stare at him and he submits, meeting Bressie’s eyes levelly as he shrugs and Niall might not’ve done anything wrong but that doesn’t mean he wanted to admit it to anyone’s face, wanted to talk about it or be straight with anyone.

“So? We’re just fucking around.” Niall mumbles, because that’s exactly what they are doing and he hasn’t heard any different from Harry so why should he say any different to Breslin now. He does wonder a little how much of their particular situation has gone around the village but he doesn’t dare ask Breslin to his face, maybe by text or telephone call but definitely not to his face.

Bressie reels back and runs a hand through his hair, letting out a little frustrated sigh before he points a stiff finger at Niall. “Be that as it may, remember what you’re here for.” And Niall wants to tug his hair out and scream because, really? Remember what he’s here for? He’s here for fun, if he’s remembered correctly, nothing more than that if he’s got things right. It’s a bit rich that this is coming from Breslin because Niall knows for a fact that he and his girlfriend would be a mess if she was even here but she isn’t and Niall isn’t going to take the fault for that.

Still, Niall pumps his fist a little, arching his eyes so they’re anywhere but on Breslin’s face because he kind of can’t stand to look at him. Niall jeers a little, “Go Team Irish or whatever,” before he drops his arms limp to his sides and he presses his hands into the walls when Breslin leans back in.

Breslin hisses, bares his teeth, points a stiff finger at Niall before he shakes his fist and Niall isn’t sure what Breslin is trying to communicate but he isn’t getting _any of it._ “What I’m trying to say is,” Bressie starts roughly before he cuts himself off, palming a tired hand down his face before he tries again. “If the coaches find out,”

There’s a part of Niall that wants to know exactly what the coaches will do if they find out, send him home? Good riddance. But, no, they’d be one man short and the whole thing? Too much drama to swallow. No, Niall suspects they wouldn’t do a single thing and he’s going to tell Bressie as much, “Bressie,  _you_  are a coach and do you care?”

But Bressie shakes his head, clutching at Niall’s shoulder to pin him back against the wall. “I’m a different story, Niall.” He breathes emphatically as he lets his hands slip back to the wall, caging Niall again as he leans in. “I’m telling you to _be careful_.”

Niall snorts because he’s careful, he’s so careful he’s riding Harry’s dick five miles under the speed limit or something. “Yeah, what-,” Niall is in the process of rolling his eyes, dropping his head to the right to eye the freedom he doesn’t have access to but then he sees a familiar figure at the head of the hallway, running off before it even registers in Niall’s mind and, “Harry? Harry, wait!” Niall shoves Breslin off without a moment’s wait, sprinting off to try to catch up but Harry is gone when he gets there and Niall stomps his foot, biting his tongue so that he doesn’t actually yell out, fucking Olympians, even though he kind of really wants to.

Never mind that, Niall just starts stomping on his way to Harry’s room, following the memorized path through the hallways until he’s at Harry’s door and he doesn’t hesitate to push it open because Harry’s gotten into the habit of leaving his door unlocked – in the name of night time visits – so Niall doesn’t expect that’s changed and, luckily, it hasn’t. Niall lets the door swing open and the knob hit the far wall and Harry jumps a little where he’s sitting on the bed, pulling his hands apart to stare up with wide eyes. Niall doesn’t even know what to say. No, wait, he does. “Are you serious right now?” Niall hisses, stepping into the room before he slams the door shut but, before he can move any closer, Harry pushes up off the bed and throws his hands up to the heavens.

“What, what do you want from me?” Harry gripes before he shakes his head, twisting away like he can’t stand the sight of Niall and, okay fine. Harry runs his hands through the side of his hair, shoulders working as he moves and, for a moment, Niall kind of wants to jump his bones but _fuck_ him for being a pissy little brat, Niall is not going to be at fault for this.

Niall stalks forward and swings Harry back around, hooking his hand in Harry’s shirt so that he’s off balance. “I want to know what the fuck that was,” Niall throws his hands back behind himself as if he can literally gesture to the hallway Harry had just run away from and metaphorically gesture to the past but none of it matters because Harry just shrugs him off and steps back.

“You tell me.” Harry waves his hands at Niall like he’s bug Harry can just flick off his fingers and, just like that, they’re back to that first day, back to before a week of endless sex, back to before they spent the whole night awake just talking to each other even though they knew they would wake up sleep deprived in the morning, back to when they _didn’t know each other_ and Niall takes it as a low low blow, stumbling back in his step until he hits the far wall.

“That was me, talking to one of the coaches, Harry.” Niall winces when his voice comes out a little too hoarse, dips his head as he scuffs the tip of his toe against the floor. “I don’t know what you saw but that was me _talking_ to a coach, okay?” And, it’s not like Niall doesn’t know because he _does_ know that they, he and Breslin, they didn’t exactly look like they were talking.

Harry scoffs from behind and Niall doesn’t remember why he even bothered coming here, why he thought to waste his time on someone who clearly doesn’t care enough to account for his feelings, especially by the way he sneers, “Sure, that’s what you were doing,” and Niall has had it up to _here_.

“He has a  _girlfriend_ , Harry.” Niall seethes, pushing forward angrily because, honest to god, he wants to throttle Harry silly but he holds back because, well, that just wouldn’t be nice now would it. Except, Harry pushes forward enough for the both of them until he’s pressing Niall back into the wall and hovering over him much like Breslin had but, not the same because this is hotter and somehow closer and Niall has to force himself to remember that he’s supposed to be angry, god damn it.

Harry leans in and just stares at Niall, flickering his gaze from eye to eye before he sniffs and twists away and, when he speaks, it’s in a voice that positively leaks contempt, “Nothing’s real here anyway.” And now, Niall actually wants to sink to the floor. That, or punch Harry’s nose in, he hasn’t decided yet.

“Oh my god.” Niall threads a hand up through his hair and twists toward the door, half a mind to just leave this place and never look back but, for some reason that’s beyond him, he doesn’t want things to end like that, even if they’ve only got sex, not like this. Niall swings back around with a new found fury and stomps across the room, stabbing a finger into Harry’s chest until it hurts. “No, you  _cannot_  do this to me, okay? Who the fuck do you think you are?”

And Harry stares at him, lips pursing in anger before he steps even further back like he doesn’t want to be anywhere near Niall at all and, if that isn’t the _nicest_ thing Niall’s ever had happen to him, he hasn’t lived. “Evidently nothing?” Harry shrugs his shoulders, dipping his hands into his pockets as he leans against the wall and arches his gaze anywhere else and Niall is sick of this.

“Well, if you thought we were together,” Niall steps back, holding his arms out wide because he is _so_ sick of this stupid, petty argument, and he’s done trying to fight for closure or whatever. He’s fine with this crap ending, it’ll do. “It would’ve been nice to get the _fucking_ memo.” Niall hisses and twists around, turning to the door but he’s barely got his hand around the doorknob before Harry is grabbing at his elbow and spinning him back around, pressing a hand against Niall’s shoulder so he can’t rise up and Niall is mouthing but he can’t speak, doesn’t have to anyway because Harry does before he can.

“Wait,” Harry takes a deep breath and sighs it out, dropping his head down as he does so and Niall just waits because when he said he was done he _might_ not have been as done as he said he was. He still has a hundred things he wants to say and a hundred things he wants to do and he’ll probably get to none of them but it’s nice to dream. Harry twists his hand around to knuckle gently against Niall’s arm and, just like that, the tension is vacuumed from the air, gone as quickly as the lines of anger in Harry’s face when he leans in and traces the tip of his nose against Niall’s cheek.

Niall drops his head back against the wall but Harry just follows him in, hovering so near that they just breathe in tandem and, when Harry skims his knuckles up under Niall’s chin, Niall takes in a breath so sharp it makes his head spin. Niall shoves his hands up against Harry’s shoulders and dips his head, breathing in now that he doesn’t feel like he’s being so peeled apart anymore. “What are you doing?” Niall asks, speaking more in a despaired voice than anything because he genuinely doesn’t know and it would be some well received information without a doubt.

Harry reaches out, cautiously, to cup the back of Niall’s head and Niall just goes with the coaxing as Harry presses their lips together, tangles his fingers slowly into Harry’s shirt when he pulls away far too soon from the kiss. “I want it to be real.” Harry slides his hand down to squeeze lightly at Niall’s neck, not anywhere near enough to hurt, but more just to reinforce his words and, oh.

Niall kneads his fists into the dips of Harry’s shoulders and, there’s a part of him that still feels like slapping Harry silly, but Harry’s words are making his heart beat hard against his ribs. Niall laughs a little crazily but only in the moments before he grabs at the neck of Harry’s shirt, hauling him in for a bruising kiss this time and Harry just goes with it, planting his hands into the wall beside Niall’s head as he bears down. It’s not long before Niall forces space between them though, pressing his knee up against Harry’s hip so that he can’t be so distracted by the press of Harry’s body anymore. “You need to learn how to use your words.” Niall gasps out, punching at Harry’s arm before he soothes his hand flat over the ache. “And you need to lay off on the cheese.”

Harry grins, softly at first before a full smile spreads over his lips, all laugh lines and crinkles and he presses his hand against Niall’s raised thigh to stroke over the length of it. “I can work on that.” Harry offers, nodding his head, but somehow Niall doesn’t think they’ll spend much time working at it at all.

+

Niall palms his hands gently across the bed but it’s only when his fingers find the edge of the bed that he realizes there’s a problem because he’s already on the edge on his end so, by process of elimination, Harry should be on the other side but he isn’t and, Niall cracks an eye open to see Harry pulling pants over boxers as he stands by the dresser and Niall groans. “Mm, no, stay a bit longer.” Niall writhes on the bed, tangling up the sheets between his legs until he feels Harry’s hand on the nape of his neck, Harry’s lips landing wherever they can reach.

“Want to,” Harry chuckles, scaling his lips up over Niall’s skin until he kisses at the corner of Niall’s mouth but he pulls away before they can actually kiss properly and Niall’s whine is loud in response, fingers scrambling to knot in Harry’s pants but not fast enough to actually keep Harry close. Harry grins as Niall flops over onto his stomach with a louder groan, tossing his arm over the edge of the bed like he’s a limpet, but Harry just tugs his sweatpants higher on his hips and starts riffling through his drawers for a shirt. “But it’s kind of a big day for me.”

“Yeah?” Niall cranes his head up to grin at Harry where he’s nearly falling off the bed, gleaning a little when Harry nods, twisting around to pull on a shirt and Niall can’t tear his eyes away from the way Harry’s back arches and his muscles work and- “ _Wait,”_ Niall gasps, pushing himself up to sit before he starts flailing around, shoving his hair off his forehead because he’s lost track of the days that’ve gone by and that is really, really bad news. He thinks he could’ve slept away the rest of Sochi without a care in the world but he can’t exactly do that and still be an active member on his team; he has _duties_ , neglected albeit but duties just the same. “What day is it today?”

“It’s the 18th. It’s _the_ day.” Harry nods his head, twisting back around to grin at Niall and Niall can’t really understand how he’s so calm because he’s freaking right the fuck out and he’s not even _competing_.

“Oh god,” Niall kicks the sheets away and nearly does fall off the bed this time, snatching the clothes he discarded yesterday from the floor so he can pull them on and, “Oh my _god_ , what time is it?” Niall cannot get his hair to stay out of his eyes no matter how many times he shoves it back and he is just starting to dart around like a chicken with its head cut off when Harry catches at his arms and holds him steady.

“Hey, _relax_ , it’s only 5am.” Harry scales his hands up to Niall’s shoulders and squeezes just enough to cement Niall in this moment, right now, and it takes a bit before Niall nods his head, taking a breath before he lets it out in a sigh and he just feels all the tension seep right from his body, even as Harry takes it a step further and presses their foreheads together. “I’ve just got this morning ritual on competition days. You’ve still got a lot of time left.”

Niall rumbles out a moan and catches at Harry’s hands, pulling them from his shoulders but only so he can lace their fingers together, slot their lips like an afterthought so their mouths vibrate in tandem when he hums. “Does it involve sex since you woke me up so early?” Niall cocks his head to the side with a wide grin, especially when Harry rolls his eyes but it isn’t done very meanly, Harry’s grinning far too wide for that.

Harry pulls a hand free to trace his fingers down Niall’s chest, snapping at the band of his elastic before he skims a hand around to grab at Niall’s back and _hauls_ him in, knuckling up his spine so that Niall arches into his chest. “It does not but I think I can pencil you in.” And it’s weird because Harry takes his time, spreading Niall out on the bed until he’s shaking and writhing, with a voice so hoarse he doesn’t think he’ll ever speak normally again. It’s weird because today is the only day that time isn’t on their side and yet Harry acts like that’s the only thing he has, rutting up deep inside Niall’s body like he’ll never leave. It feels like a last time and, after that thought, Niall doesn’t let their mouths slip apart until they both come because he doesn’t want this to be a last time. Truth be told, Niall doesn’t even want to feel this way but he can’t help it, not even when he’s leaning his forehead against Harry’s back as he gets dressed for the second time this morning.

“I don’t know who I’m going to cheer for today.” Niall mumbles, pulling away but only for a moment as Harry tugs down his shirt and Niall ducks back in when Harry fixes it around his waist, looping his hands to follow the hem.

“Me, obviously.” Harry twists his head around to kiss Niall one last time before he stands up, grabbing the rest of his gear from his closet, tugging his jacket on but leaving it open so he can hug his board to his chest with a cheeky grin. “I’m going to win anyway.”

And Niall rolls his eyes before he gets out of bed, regretfully leaving Harry’s side but only to head back to his room and get ready for the big day. He gets a look from Breslin when he joins the group but no one says anything about anything besides claps on Seamus’ shoulder and wishes of good luck and it feels like a mere blink before Niall is standing on the competition hill, off to the side with this massive pipe leading down the hill. To say it’s intimidating is a gross understatement and Niall is just glad that he isn’t competing today because he would have a terrible case of stage fright and probably trip over his own shoes or something.

Niall watches the competition unfold with bated breath, cheers when people score exceptionally high and groans along with everyone else whenever someone gets completely laid out in the snow. Seamus’ first run is flawless, going off without a hitch as he performs trick after trick with ease and Niall knows that all that practice was for good use. When Harry finally steps up to the plate, Niall feels his heart catch in his throat amidst the raucous cheers from an avid audience and his mind turns to static when Harry pushes off down the slope and, though he as complete confidence in him, Niall kind of expects the worse. He needs to stop getting what he expects.

Harry is on his way down from his third trick when he’s arched too far forward, not enough to bring the board back down safely and all Niall can see is the way he cracks down on the pipe, crumpling to a heap with his board on top. Niall’s head is snapping around for the playback on the widescreen before he’s even really conscious of the movement and it must be ten times worse watching it replay because this video is at a different angle than where Niall is stood and he can see how Harry tries to save himself at the last minute with his hands.

When Niall twists back around, he can see Harry at the bottom of the pipe, shrugging and clapping hands with his coach. He’s okay, but Niall is still freaking out, on red alert in his brain, and he wants nothing more than to just run down there and see if Harry really is okay but he _can’t._ It sucks, watching all of the athletes going again, more accidents than tricks this time like everyone had pulled out all the stops for the first run. Harry does better this time though, no stumbling in any sense as he makes his way down the pipe with ease and, when the final scores are in, a Russian takes gold. Seamus takes bronze and Harry takes silver and Niall is torn on which person to cheer most with when they come down from the podium.

Niall jumps in on the Team Irish group hug because Harry is otherwise occupied with his own team hug but, when they break apart and start congratulating other athletes, Niall _somehow_ finds his way next to Harry, nudging at his gut with his elbow. It takes Harry a second to realize exactly who it is, his face changing from one of confusion to elation and he tugs Niall in for a tight hug without a single moment’s hesitation and, when they finally pull apart, he totes his medal and pulls a bit of a face at it. “How about that, did not expect that.”

And Niall isn’t quite sure what to say, dropping his eyes down to the snow before he nudges at Harry’s arm lightly. “Well, yeah, your second run was amazing.” Niall offers carefully because he doesn’t actually know how Harry takes disappointment and, if it’s anything like the way he takes disapproval, it won’t be good.

But Harry grins and works his neck a little, goggles hanging loose around his throat. “Did you see the way I planted in my first run,” Harry claps his hands to his eyes and nearly bends over double with a loud groan, “God, that was embarrassing,” and Niall has problems holding his laughter in because, at least Harry has no trouble laughing at his own mistakes.

“You still got silver, though.” Niall flips the medal a little before he grins, “That’s really great.” Niall kind of wishes they weren’t in such a public place so he can show Harry just how proud he was, nothing naughty, just a kiss, but he feels exposed here with so many people around and definitely not brave enough.

Harry seems to read what he wants though because he pulls his gloves off and cups Niall’s throat with warm clammy hands and Niall would complain if he actually cared. “I’m not worried.” Harry smiles and glides his thumb over the line of Niall’s jaw gently. “I’m still taking home gold.”

Niall drops his head back and groans at the sheer corniness of Harry’s words and, if Harry’s hand wasn’t sliding around to the nape of his neck, he would straight up just walk away and never even look back. “I thought I told you to cut back on the cheese.” Niall grumbles, beating his fists half-heartedly against Harry’s chest.

“I’m working on it!” Harry protests and, before Niall can speak, Harry does that one thing he would’ve never dared to. Harry seals their lips together through a grin and reels Niall in closer, leaving Niall’s hands free in case he wants to push Harry away but Niall would never, despite the jeers from behind from both of their teams.

(Niall re-watches their kiss in HD, sitting in the living room of Harry’s house with Harry’s sister, Gemma, because the man himself is currently getting grilled by his mother for not telling her he was in a relationship but, in Harry’s defense, they weren’t– aren’t? – weren’t at least not at the time. Harry’s not alone though because Niall has rejected five calls from his mother and he’s, at this moment, ignoring the way his phone is buzzing across the coffee table with a sixth call. He’ll get to it eventually but he’s a bit busy at the moment, especially at the way Harry curls into his side when he walks back into the room, looking red and embarrassed but happy. Niall feels it too.)

**Author's Note:**

> I also posted [this](http://leprechauncupcakes.tumblr.com/post/77197828590/taking-home-the-gold-narry) and [ the original prompt](http://leprechauncupcakes.tumblr.com/post/76470782243/so-i-feel-like-someone-needs-to-write-a-winter) on my tumblr!


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